


All Work And No Play

by Sovvie118



Series: Askpolylosersclub Oneshots [10]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Skype, Video Cameras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 17:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20820884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovvie118/pseuds/Sovvie118
Summary: Stan is working late and video calls Bill so they can play a game.Poly-Losers' Club in an established relationship.Paired with the askpolylosersclub blog on Tumblr.





	All Work And No Play

Bill Denbrough pulls into the driveway of their extravagant home at around eight thirty P.M. He’s been struggling all the way back; Richie’s obnoxiously fast and obnoxiously loud –both also things that could definitely be attributed to Richie, himself-, red convertible has been his ride since he collected it for him from the airport on his way home from meeting a director in L.A. It handles just the way Richie does, overenthusiastic and unpredictable and Bill is not the safest driver at the best of times but he’s run no fewer than _three_ red lights in the whole two-and-a-half hour journey. Plus, there’s a weird, stale food kind of smell that Bill just couldn’t find the source of, even though he searched what felt like every inch of the car, including under and between the seats. He parks it in between Ben’s Range Rover and one of Eddie’s more expensive limousines that he’s brought home to be inspected, a Roll’s Royce Phantom which Bill knows gets used for high profile weddings.

Glad to finally be rid of Richie’s car, he clambers out of the front seat, wondering how Richie ever manages to get in and out of such a low profile vehicle with his tall frame, and retrieves his cabin case from the trunk. He’s feeling a little jet-lagged from the six hour flight; the lights in the windows of their home have never looked as inviting as they do to him as he’s walking up to the front doors.

When he gets inside, it sounds as if everyone is in the kitchen. He leaves his case in the entrance hall with a niggling feeling that Stan will reprimand him if he sees it there later on, but right now he’s too tired to care. Shrugging off his jacket there, too, and dropping it over the abandoned case, he makes his way towards their voices.

Mike is the first one to notice him as he enters the kitchen, even from where he’s standing at the stove; he greets Bill with a very enthusiastic “Hey there, Beautiful!” moving immediately across the space towards him. He’s wearing an apron that says ‘Kiss the Cook’ and Bill makes a very obvious show of regarding it carefully.

“Well, don’t mind if I do,” he chuckles as he leans up a little to give Mike a kiss. It’s warm and welcome and satisfying; Mike’s hands come up either side of his face and Bill thinks about how Mike has this way of holding you that makes you feel like the most important person in the world. As their lips part, they smile against each other and Mike gives him another quick, little peck before returning to his cooking.

“What are you making? Smells good.”

“Vegan lasagna,” Ben answers, wiping his hands on a dish towel which he then throws over his shoulder. Bill goes over to inspect their work and Ben gets an arm about his waist as he stands at the stove. He’s looking at the side of Bill’s face fondly, “You hungry?”

“Starving, but I got a lot of work to do, guys. Can you bring me something up?”

“Sure,” Ben smiles, kissing at Bill’s cheek before returning to check something in the oven.

“Oh, yeah, how did it go?!” Beverly cries suddenly from where she’s sitting on one of the counter tops wearing a silk pyjama set. She holds out her arms to beckon him to come to her, wrapping them around his neck when he does. She’s holding a glass of white wine in one hand and it must have been chilled because it’s cold against the back of Bill’s head.

“It went _great_.” Bill sounds a little surprised but it’s muffled into Bev’s collarbone, “She really liked my stuff.”

“Liked your stuff, huh?” Richie chimes in from where he’s sitting at the island counter beside Eddie. There’s a bowl of grated, dairy-free cheese in front of them and when he dips his hand into it to eat some, Ben flicks him with his towel and tells him playfully to stop it, “Are you cheating on us, Bill?”

“She likes my stuff and she wants to see more of it, which means…I gotta actually write some more for her to see…” Bill ignores Richie’s comments but he looks at him and turns as Beverly detaches her arms from his neck, “By the way, I picked up your car, Rich.”

“_Aw_, thanks.” It’s said in such a dry, deadpan tone that it makes Beverly and Mike laugh.

He throws the keys at him and Richie watches, without lifting a finger, as they hit his shoulder and drop to the floor with a clatter.

“Ow.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and Bill chuckles out a “Sorry.”

Nobody picks them up.

As Richie scoops up another handful of vegan cheddar, Ben points at him threateningly with an amused look in his eyes, “_Don’t_ make me come over there.”

“What’re you gonna do, huh?” Richie watches him challengingly through his glasses, slowly lifting the cheese to his outstretched lips as if he’s going to give it a comical kiss rather than eat it, “I’m gonna touch it, Ben. I’m gonna contaminate it!”

Ben rounds the counter and gets his fingers right into Richie’s sides, looking victorious when he immediately drops the cheese back into the bowl and shrieks with laughter, wincing and doubling over with his arms wrapped tight around himself. Eddie immediately scoots his bar stool further away.

“Don’t do that right next to me! If he pukes or pisses himself I swear to god-”

Ben tickles Richie a little bit more before letting him go, leaving him breathless and red-faced and dishevelled. His glasses have gone askew, and Ben fixes them for him, chuckling.

“I warned you.”

“_Ben!_” Richie breathes, scandalised, “All this innocent act you got goin’ on but you’re really some kind of sadist- DON’T touch me!” Ben chuckles as he pretends to tickle Richie again, before going back to help Mike, who’s singing ‘Isn’t She Lovely’ to the sauce that he’s making. He immediately changes the lyrics to ‘He’ when Ben walks over, grabbing his hands to dance with him. Beverly starts to sing along, too, and their voices echo beautifully around the marble kitchen.

Bill watches them for a while lovingly, leaning against the island counter next to Eddie, who’s flicking through the shoe section of a men’s designer catalogue.

“Aren’t you supposed to be writing something?” Eddie whispers suddenly, mid-page-turn, and Bill looks at him with a small sniff.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“...Yours?”

Bill chuckles and leans over to kiss him, getting a little bit distracted by the way Eddie’s fingers immediately leave where they were holding his page in the catalogue to find Bill’s hair. It feels nice; he’s had a long flight and he could really use a distraction from having to go and sit in his office alone again for hours on end, staring at blank pages on a computer screen. Eddie is always a good distraction.

“Get some work done, you _hack_ writer!” Richie heckles from behind Eddie suddenly with his hands cupped around his mouth, and if looks could kill Eddie would have taken him out with a headshot like a fucking sniper. Bill only laughs softly, drawing Eddie’s attention back to him briefly for another quick peck and a ‘_maybe later_’ whispered against his lips. When he moves away to take a bottle of water out of the fridge and leaves the room, Eddie looks again at Richie.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?! Did you see what you just did?! _ASShole_!”

Bill can hear them from the bottom of the stairway and he smiles to himself, flipping the water bottle in the air and catching it again in his hand as he ascends to the next floor.

It’s relatively warm in Bill’s office when he enters, and he takes off the over-shirt he always wears, stripping down to the cotton t-shirt underneath. There’s a remote control for the air conditioning unit lying on the desk next to his computer and he picks it up, switching it on as he gets himself comfortable in his chair.

He sips from his bottle of water as he waits for his computer to start up, swinging from side to side in his chair as he stares at the screen in a similar way to how he’s probably going to be doing soon, only on a Word document. Writer’s block is unfortunately something that comes very naturally to Bill.

Tapping his fingers against the glass desk briefly, he takes his phone out of the pocket of his jeans to check if there are any messages. There’s a missed call from Stan, but when he tries to call him back, there’s no answer. It just goes straight to that ‘Hello. You’ve reached Stanley Uris’ personal phone. If this is Richie, don’t call me at this number again. Everyone else, please leave a message,’ that always makes Bill laugh. It does this time, too. He doesn’t leave a message. If it was important, Stan would have found another way to contact him.

He opens Microsoft Word, takes his glasses out of the desk drawer to push them onto his face, and wheels his chair closer to the desk’s edge to lean his elbows against it. He types a couple of words onto the blank page, erases them, types a few more, erases those as well; this is his usual process until eventually something starts to flow. He pinches the bridge of his nose just above the frame of his glasses. Just then, Ben pops his head around the door to bring him a warm plate of lasagna and Bill welcomes the distraction. It’s delicious, as usual. Mike never misses a beat but when Ben is helping him, too, magic happens. He says so and enjoys Ben’s bashful little smile.

“You know, you shouldn’t push yourself too hard,” Ben says as he stands behind him and rubs his shoulders, “You only just got back.”

Bill pushes his glasses up into his hair and reclines in the chair, dropping his head back to look at Ben upside-down. His arms are folded across his chest.

“I _am_ tired.”

“Exactly. Just…rest for tonight and start again in the morning.”

Ben’s fingers are really working wonders on some of the knots in the back of his neck. He thinks that he could just fall asleep right here. But then, he remembers the meeting, and how shocked he’d been when they’d actually liked his work. He really wants to impress them.

“…_No_, I can’t.” He sits upright again, “Stop distracting me.”

A small chuckle from Ben, who apparently is ‘doing no such thing’. Although his thumbs are still rubbing _hard_ little circles into Bill’s back. Bill half wonders if he’s going to go lower, and he does, a little, but just when things are starting to get exciting and he’s _positive_ that Ben is leaning in because he’s about to _kiss his neck_, there’s a pop-up on his computer and the familiar jingle that means that someone is calling him on Skype. It’s Stan.

“Uh-oh. It’s the boss.” Ben chuckles and briefly kisses Bill on the cheek –not the neck- and then says goodnight as he exits the office.

Bill feels a little put out, and he hovers over the ‘Decline’ button briefly with the cursor, before giving in and answering the call. The screen pops open to reveal what Bill recognises as the inside of Stan’s office at Ralph Lauren. But no Stan.

He leans a little closer to inspect the screen but Stan is definitely not there. Although there are voices in the background, one of them Stan’s and another, a woman’s voice –probably one of his many assistants-. He can’t hear what they’re saying.

“Stan?!” He throws out, feeling a little irritated. The voices stop briefly, before he distinctly hears the woman say ‘Goodnight, Mr. Uris. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ and a door closing. Stan appears in front of the screen moments later, clad in his usual designer trouser/shirt combo. He wears the same sort of thing for work every day, only in slightly varying colours and with a different watch and belt for each look. Not that Bill is complaining, Stan always looks incredible, especially given the very close-fitting tailoring of his trousers, which always leave very little to the imagination. There’s a noticeable bruise on his cheek and his lip is swollen, both caused a couple of days ago by Bill himself during a failed sexual experiment. Bill has felt awful about it ever since but Stan himself doesn’t seem to mind the marks.

“Nice of you to join me,” Bill says sarcastically, noting the smirk that twitches at the corner of Stan’s lips at the comment, as he rests his hands against the back of his own black, leather office chair from where he’s standing behind it. Stan is wearing a pair of glasses, too, although they’re probably much more expensive than the ones Bill currently has perched on top of his head.

“I called you already today and you didn’t answer,” Stan says curtly, “So maybe come in with a little less _snark_ next time.”

“I was on a plane, Stanley,” Bill chuckles, swinging in his chair a little before he stops himself through fear of looking too much like he’s being flirty. Flirting with Stan is a dangerous thing.

“How was your flight?”

Bill is thrown off a little, as he usually is when he’s talking to Stan, multiple times. He can never predict whether what he’s going to say next is going to be a sarcastic comment or something genuinely nice. Usually it’s the former.

“Long. Boring. I watched The Green Mile and cried and the kid sitting next to me was laughing at me.”

Stan laughs, “_I_ would have done the same. And the meeting?”

“She really liked my work,” Bill says, trying not to look too pleased with himself, “She wants to see me again to take a look at some more.”

“See? I told you she would. You’re a fantastic writer; you should stop doubting yourself.” Stan’s smile is genuine, and it makes Bill’s heart feel all light and warm.

“So are you coming home tonight, or what?”

“Later…” Stan rounds the chair to sit on the edge of the desk, giving Bill a very nice view of one of Stan’s designer-trouser-clad thighs, but not much else of him, “I still have some work to do.”

“I can’t see you.”

Stan moves to sit in the chair instead.

“I should be home around eleven. I was wondering if you could run me a bath before I get back.”

“…That’s why you called me?”

“Yes.”

“…To ask me to run you a bath before you come home?”

“That is correct.”

“I mean, I’ll do it, but…why…wouldn’t you just text that to me?”

There’s a pause. Stan picks up a marble paper weight off the desk and passes it between his hands.

“Because I would rather speak to you in person.”

“...But you always text me. We never do this unless it’s something important, or…”

“Or?”

Bill chuckles briefly, unsure of whatever game Stan is playing, if he’s playing one at all. He doubts himself briefly, but that’s probably exactly what Stan wants him to do.

“Okay, out with it, Stan. Why did you really call me?”

“Can’t I just want to speak to my husband?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“I’ve just been thinking about you a lot today, that’s all. I wanted to see your face.”

He’s taken aback again by the sincerity and, although he’s sure that he’s just being thrown off guard, he smiles in spite of himself.

“You wanted to see my face?”

“Of course.”

“You been…thinking about me?”

“Well, you did leave me with a constant reminder,” Stan muses, placing the paperweight neatly back on his desk and touching his fingers to his cheek and lip. Bill winces.

“Aw, c’mon…don’t-”

“I like it.”

“W-what?”

“I _like_ it. When I see it, it gives me…a rush of adrenaline.”

Bill feels a little embarrassed. He watches Stan’s fingers against his cheek, unsure of what to say or how to respond. There’s a familiar twinkle in Stan’s eyes that he thinks he can see even through the webcam.

“Like you- w-you’re getting…excited? By that?”

Stan nods, easily, nonchalantly, like it’s a completely normal thing to be turned on by. He’s looking Bill right in the eyes through the camera, like they’re playing a game and he’s waiting to see what move he’s going to make.

“W-if you come home, we can probably work something out,” Bill chuckles, “I’m not gonna hit you again, but we can definitely…work out…any other problems you might be having.”

Stan smirks down at his desk briefly, like that’s exactly the sort of thing he was expecting Bill to say. He looks back at the camera.

“I have to stay late to finish this work, Bill.”

“Well…then later on, when you come home-”

“I’ll be taking a bath and going to bed,” Stan finishes.

“We could take a bath together?”

There’s that glint in Stan’s eyes again that makes Bill feel a little bit afraid but also always gives his body another, unwarranted response that he can’t seem to help. He shifts in his seat under the gaze.

“Would you _like_ to?”

The tone in Stan’s voice makes Bill’s throat go a little bit dry. He can only nod in response with a very small ‘yeah’.

“Well, then…” he leans in closer to the camera, resting his arms across the desk in front of his chest, “Why don’t you…get us a bottle of champagne from the cellar, fill a nice, hot bath…and I’ll see you there at eleven. You look stressed, Little Bluejay, and I know a few things that will help you to…_relieve the tension_.”

Bill curses at himself for the reaction that draws from him, especially as Stan has started purposely rubbing one of his slender fingertips against his desk in little circles. Bill tries not to look at it because he knows that Stan will be able to see it if he does, but he can’t help himself.

“O-okay,” Bill says obediently, before his mind can catch up. Whatever game this is he just lost spectacularly.

“Although,” Stan adds suddenly, looking very pleased with himself, “I was hoping that we could make this into a game.”

Bill huffs out a chuckle with his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, “Of course you were.”

Stan continues regardless.

“If you win, I will come home _immediately_…I will meet you in my bedroom...I will get on top of you and I will do that thing with my hips that _always_ makes you stutter my name.” Stan’s eyes are definitely glinting, now. Bill swallows a lump in his throat and tries not to reach down to adjust his jeans right on camera. He’s about to agree, when-

“If _I_ win, I will stay here until I finish my work, you will run _me_ a bath, fetch _me_ a glass of champagne, and then go to bed by yourself while I relax.”

Bill feels caught. If he disagrees, he will be turning down a chance at probably some of the best sex of his life, and will be forced to sit in his office by himself with a boner while he tries to focus and type some words down onto a page. If he agrees, the reward could be phenomenal, but only if he wins whatever stupid game Stan wants to play. If he loses, he will still be going to bed by himself –theoretically, of course, considering there are five other people in this house right now who would probably take him to bed without a second thought-.

“What’s the game?” Bill sighs, but he’s smiling. He knows he’s been drawn into it already.

“A race,” Another smirk twitches at the corner of Stan’s lips.

“A race? What do you want me to do, run around my office?”

“No, this is a different kind of race. The one who finishes _last_ is the winner of this one.”

It doesn’t take long for the pieces to click together in Bill’s mind and he thinks he understands exactly what Stan is getting at, and _exactly_ why he chose to _video_ call him, of all things.

“You want-” he observes the way Stan’s dark eyes are watching him and chuckles, seeing Stan reciprocate just slightly, “Well, someone is feeling playful today. If you’re suggesting…what I think you’re suggesting.”

“I could put it more bluntly for you,” Stan says. He’s picked a fountain pen off his desk now and is twirling it between his fingers lazily, “You’re going to touch yourself. I’m going to touch myself. The one to finish last is the winner. The only rule is that you can’t stop.”

“You-you’re going to…” Bill feels as if he should have turned up the air conditioning some more. He’s seen Stan touch himself before, but only very briefly, and _always_ during sex. The thought of being allowed to see it like this, while Stan is by himself, is almost too much.

“I’m not a prude, Bill.” Stan looks extra amused by how flustered Bill is getting, “Sometimes I do have to pay some attention to my _own_ body.”

“I know, I just-”

“So, what do you say?”

Stan has put the pen down and leaned close to the camera lens, his hands resting underneath his chin, fingers laced together. From this distance, the bruise on his cheek is very noticeable and his lip looks slightly swollen around the small cut at the corner of it. The purples and reds stand out harshly on an otherwise perfect, pale face.

Thinking that he’s going to regret it, but going along anyway, just like he always does, “Okay. Deal.”

Smiling and sitting back again in his chair, Stan laces his hands across his chest instead, elbows resting on the leather arms. Bill can’t see the lower half of his body and he figures that hopefully, Stan can’t see his either. He adjusts the webcam to make sure, hearing Stan’s resulting amused breath. As he’s still leaning in towards the screen, Stan’s voice is loud in his ear through the speaker.

“I’ve been waiting to see you use that bottle of lotion you keep in your desk drawer.”

Bill freezes, looking around at the surface of his desk as if _it_ was the one who just said that to him. He pulls away, trying to look as puzzled as he can so Stan can see it on his face but Stan only sniggers again.

“I don’t have-”

“Yes you do.”

Bill pauses again, thinking carefully about what to say, “_Did you_\- did you come into my office and look through my stuff?”

“Frequently.”

“That is a _gross_ invasion of privacy,” but Bill is smiling despite his brief embarrassment, “For the record, my hands get _very_ dry and that’s why I keep-”

“Okay, then put some on.”

“M-my hands?”

“If that’s what you use it for.”

Bill looks at him for a while, challengingly, before opening the bottom drawer of his desk and taking out a small bottle from the back of it. As he’s leaning down, Stan’s amused voice comes through the speakers again.

“That’s a strange place to put hand lotion, where nobody will find it.”

“I just…dropped it there last time I used it,” Bill says as his head reappears over the desk. He pops open the cap and squeezes some into the palm of his hand while Stan watches, eyebrows raised, arms still folded over his chest. When Bill places the bottle aside and rubs it into his hands, it doesn’t soak in, stays wet and kind of greasy between his fingers. He hopes that Stan can’t see that through the camera lens.

“How does it feel?”

“Fine,” Bill murmurs, still rubbing his hands together, “It’s just hand lotion.”

“I was hoping you would show me what you really use it for.”

Stan has pulled himself closer to the desk, one elbow resting against it, his other arm is beneath the desk and Bill can’t see it but it’s almost definitely a ruse. There’s no way Stan would be doing that already. His expression doesn’t give anything away. Bill chuckles and shrugs his shoulders.

“I just did.”

“So you don’t spend time at your computer doing anything that isn’t writing?”

“No,” Bill smirks a little. He still has at least fifty percent of the control in this situation and he’s going to keep it that way for as long as he possibly can. As soon as Stan grabs hold of the power, Bill will have already lost his little ‘game’.

But Stan is _good_. Bill watches him unpop the top button of his crisp-white shirt, revealing just a hint of collarbone that draws the attention of blue eyes for far longer than it should.

“C’mon, Bill,” he says quietly, almost…_pleading_? “Don’t you wanna have a little fun with me?”

One of Bill’s hands is resting against his inner thigh where he wiped off the excess lotion on the denim and he gives it a light squeeze, shifting his legs a little further apart in his chair. He needs to remember to take everything as slow as possible and to not let Stan rile him up; that’s the only way he has a chance of winning.

“Yeah,” Bill chuckles softly, maintaining the eye contact they have, “Always, with _you_.”

He sees Stan’s throat move as he swallows and feels a tiny bit triumphant. It would be nice to unravel _him_, for once. He makes a point of unfastening his belt as loudly as possible, watching the way it draws Stan’s eyes down. Knowing that he can’t see anything makes this even better. Lifting his hips out of the chair, which he knows that Stan _can_ see, he slides it out of the loops to drop it onto the desk, looking pleased with himself. Stan looks at the belt for a while, expression unreadable.

“You next,” Bill says, happy when it brings Stan’s eyes back up to his own, “You said we weren’t allowed to stop.”

Stan makes even more of a show than Bill did, standing out of his chair to unfasten his own belt buckle right in front of Bill’s eyes, slowly, like he always does. Always a tease. It’s slid out of the loops on his dress trousers just as leisurely. He rolls the length of his own belt into itself before placing it neatly on the desk, a contrast to Bill very unceremoniously dropping his like a dead snake. Bill thinks that Stan is going to sit back down, but he doesn’t; he pops open the button on his trousers and calmly pulls down the zip, and Bill can’t help the way his own hand follows the actions on his jeans. He’s pretty hard already and struggling to keep cool.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re going to do when I come home later?” Stan asks suddenly, voice calm and in control as he sits back down in front of Bill. One of his hands slides down against his shirt where it’s still tucked into his trousers, and Bill watches him slowly take it out, section by section, fingers dipping into his waistband each time to pull at the fabric. He feels a little mesmerised by it. His own hand is gripping at the front of his jeans, unmoving.

“I…I thought you were going to take a bath…”

“Only if you lose,” Stan chuckles, nonchalantly slipping his hand into the opening on the front of his trousers like it didn’t just make Bill’s heart leap into his throat or make him rub at his own erection through his jeans. He can’t see any more of it for Stan’s desk, but somehow that just makes him feel hotter, “Are you losing it already, Bill?”

“No,” Bill chuckles, forcing himself to still his hand again, but his dick throbs, frustrated, under his palm.

“Then tell me what you’re going to do to me later if you _win_,” Stan’s eyes look a little serious, now. His arm is only moving slowly, like he’s teasing himself. Bill can’t stop watching it.

“Thought you were gonna do something to me with your hips.”

“Oh, I _am_,” Stan smirks. Bill sees him bite briefly at the corner of his lip where it’s swollen, sees the way his whole body shifts in the chair like he just lifted his hips out of it, before he stops himself, although his tongue flicks out as if he’s testing to see if there’s blood, “But after I do that, it would be nice for you to do something for me.”

“I’ll fucking _take_ _you apart_,” Bill says suddenly, quietly, unsure himself of where it came from but watching Stan clearly becoming aroused and not being able to be there to touch him is doing things to him he didn’t expect that it would. Stan’s eyes immediately snap back to Bill’s and he opens his mouth briefly to speak, before reaching up to take his glasses off his face, as if somehow things are getting serious and he needs them out of the way. He shakes his head a little, looking bemused, but Bill can’t help but think that he looks a little flustered, too.

“Say that again.”

“I’m. Going. To. Take. You. Apart.” Bill says slowly, louder, this time. He’s done palming himself through his jeans and gets his hand into them instead, trying to suppress the shudder it gives him. His eyes are still locked with Stan’s.

There’s a noticeable hitch in Stan’s breath and he leans back in his chair again, reaching to place his glasses on the desk and dropping them the last couple of inches.

“Keep going. Tell me more.”

Bill can’t help but lift his hips against his own palm and his breath shakes a little, but he stays focused, “When I’m done with you, you’re not just gonna be stuttering my name…you’re gonna be _screaming_ _it_.”

He sees Stan’s back come out of the chair a little and his eyes briefly close. Still he retains his composure. His voice is somehow steadier than Bill’s.

“Tell me how. Tell me how you’re going to make me scream.”

“From behind.”

Stan bites at his lip again. His eyes are looking decidedly darker and hazier.

“With your face pressed into a pillow.”

“_Yes_.”

It comes out as a gasp and it completely throws Bill of course for a second. He quickly get his hand inside his own boxers, still very slightly moist from the lotion that didn’t soak in, to start rubbing himself. He can’t remember the last time he was this hard and the contact makes him groan out a curse.

He really wants to see what Stan is doing to himself beneath the black censor line of the desk, can’t help that his eyes keep ending up there, desperate for more. He can see his wrist moving, the brief flash of silver of his watch, but that’s it. The thought that Stan might actually be jerking himself off, just out of Bill’s sight, is making him crazy with lust.

Suddenly, Stan sits up and his other hand appears from below. Bill wonders, for a second, if he might have just won the game. He hasn’t. Stan’s fingers quickly unfasten the rest of the buttons on his shirt and he shrugs it off, pulling it out from behind his back to drop it over the desk, and Bill is greeted with the beautiful sight of Stan’s toned chest and stomach. He spends some time in the gym with Ben and Eddie, always fearful of starting to look old, and it shows in the slight muscle definition in his hips and behind his navel. Looking at it through a stupid camera lens is like a thirst that Bill can’t quench.

This time, when Stan’s hand disappears down between his legs, Bill actually sees it go into his underwear, and it makes him feel dizzy and hot all over. It’s like torture. Bill even forgets to touch himself for a second as he watches Stan’s, now bare, back arch out of the chair slightly. He might have even stopped breathing. Sometimes he forgets how unbelievably gorgeous Stan really is.

“Bill, keep talking.” Stan says suddenly. He’s not looking at the camera anymore; his eyes are closed.

And Bill panics briefly as he tries to think of something to say. If he lets this moment go he’ll be even stupider than he gave himself credit for.

“Sorry-”

“_Not_ like that.”

“You- I can’t…I can’t think straight…”

He sees a little smirk at the corner of Stan’s lips but his eyes still don’t open. He breathes out a brief ‘_try harder_.’ Bill feels at a loss, his eyes trace the slight curve of Stan’s lean torso in the leather office chair and he can’t look at anything else. He can see from the way Stan’s breath is frequently hitching and then stalling, the way his body is moving and his free hand –the one that Bill can see- keeps gripping at the chair arm and then releasing it, that he’s probably edging himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything sexier.

“I’m gonna leave bruises on your hips,” Bill says, calmly, as if he’s suddenly gained renewed confidence. The next hitch in Stan’s breath tells him it was the right thing to say.

“Maybe I’ll tie your hands to your headboard so you can’t move.”

Stan opens his eyes but he doesn’t look at Bill, rather what he’s doing with his own hand, and Bill can see that his lips have fallen apart somewhat. He retrieves his palm from his trousers briefly, _spits into it_, and drops it back beneath the desk. A couple of seconds later, his head tips back against the headrest and he reaches back to grip at it and Bill feels like he’s going fucking insane. He’s never seen Stan do anything in that way, so rushed and uncalculated and just…un-Stan-like.

_And Bill is falling for it hook, line and sinker. _

He’s stroking at himself faster, now, pushes his jeans and underwear lower so he has more space to work with, all the while watching Stan arching and grasping at the chair. He gets entirely too focused on the section of dark curls that always falls into Stan’s face because of the way he styles his hair, following Stan’s fingers as he brushes it back out of the way. His eyes catch Stan’s, then, as they crack open, lust-filled and dark and dangerous and Bill feels like he’s going to come just from being looked at like that. Stan’s breath is short when he chuckles.

“Are you gonna come, Bill?”

Bill has to still his hand at the base of his dick, squeezing it slightly to try and stop his impending orgasm. He shakes his head, still somehow managing to maintain the eye contact between them. Stan looks amused, but he hisses in his next breath and his eyelids drop closed again briefly.

“Are _you_?” Bill asks, trying not to let the strain in his voice give anything away about his position.

“Not if I don’t want to,” Stan smirks into his next outward breath. He turns his face against the back of the chair; his eyes are still closed and Bill can tell that he’s concentrating on holding back. If he can just break his focus for a minute…

_“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to go to work tomorrow.”_

Stan clears his throat a little, like he was holding back some sort of sound that Bill will never get to hear. He shakes his head shortly, but the smirk that pulls at his lips is vaguely forced.

Bill can feel himself getting close, and desperate. He slows his hand, trying to draw it out. If he loses this now he knows that Stan really will make him go to bed alone tonight. He’s done similarly cruel things before.

“If I win then _you_ win, Stan…” he breathes out shakily, “_I’ll be so good to you, Baby; I’ll fuck you just like you want it.”_ The word ‘_please’_ burns at his lips but it’ll sound weak and pathetic and it’s exactly what Stan wants, so he forces it back.

Thankfully, Stan’s iron resolve is also starting to crack. One of his knees is up against the desk, held there between the piece of furniture and Stan’s body; Bill can see his hand moving faster, wishing beyond anything that he could get the whole picture. He pulls his chair closer to the screen, fist still working beneath his own desk. He’s going to come soon.

“Stan, _please_-…please come for me, Baby_. I wanna see you come_.” Where he couldn’t think of anything to say before, it’s like words are just tumbling out of his mouth, now, “_Come on_.”

And, surprisingly, it seems to be working. If there’s one other thing that Stan likes, it’s having all attention on himself. Bill’s focus seems to be pushing him to the edge, however pleading and desperate and almost pathetic it’s become. He gasps, holding himself back just in time, but Bill can see how close he is.

“Stan, _Baby_, I know you’re close. Just let go,” Stan’s eyes open again just a crack, looking directly at Bill, “_Yeah_, that’s it, look at me.”

Stan maintains the eye contact between them, his chest rising and falling heavily and yet somehow it looks controlled.

“Just come home,” Bill pleads, “I can’t stand it. I wanna touch you so bad…I wanna get my hands all over you…my mouth-…_I wanna worship every inch of your body before I take it apart._”

There’s a twitch, _a flinch_, in Stan’s eyes. Bill feels like he’s winning. Stan moans, then, arches his back out of the chair more obviously now, and Bill can’t see what he’s doing, just the vague arm movement but _oh god_, that sound that just left Stan’s lips brought Bill so much closer to the edge-

“_Bill-_”

It’s a whisper, really, but there’s a shudder in Stan’s voice that Bill rarely gets to hear and there’s a white heat of pleasure as he comes into his own palm, suddenly, without warning from his stupid body.

He’s breathing heavily against the desk, almost right against it, when he sees Stan looking at him.

“Did you come?”

“…N-no.”

“Show me your hand.”

Bill sighs and rolls himself back from the desk, lifting his hand to show the camera.

“I don’t know how you do that…I was sure I was gonna beat you this time-”

Stan chuckles and holds up his own hand to show Bill. His fingers are sticky with his own release. He quickly gets a handful of wipes from one of his desk drawers and cleans it off.

“Y-you came?!” Bill quickly takes some tissues from his desk and wipes his own hand, screwing them up and tossing them into a nearby wastepaper basket, “When?!”

“About three minutes ago, actually,” Stan says, plainly, as he disposes of his own mess, “What can I say? You’re good with your words.”

“You better get your ass back here…” Bill is still struggling to catch his breath where Stan is already composed and pulling his shirt back on to button it, “…faster than you’ve ever driven that car.”

“I said I would come home immediately,” Stan picks up his glasses and pushes them back onto his face, “You have my word. I hope I have yours.”

“My wha-…what did I say?”

“Well, if I’m still able to go to work tomorrow, then you lied to me.”

Bill chuckles, fastening his own jeans back up as he leans back in the chair and swings side to side.

“Just get back here and we’ll see what we can do about that.”

He watches as Stan gets out of his chair, tucks his belt back through the loops and fastens it, then goes to collect a suit jacket that’s hanging on the wall nearby, shrugging it onto his shoulders and smoothing out the lapels. He looks completely put together; the opposite of how Bill currently looks and feels, with his t-shirt sticking to his back and the chair simultaneously.

“See you in my room in a half hour,” Stan smiles, glancing at his watch briefly and shooting Bill a quick wink before the Skype call abruptly ends. Bill sits, staring at the still empty Word document he opened earlier, still feeling like he’s coming down from a high. He clicks out of the application and shuts down his computer, running his fingers through his lightly damp hair.

He remembers all of the things he promised Stan in his lust-fuelled rambling, feeling a little bit exhausted just thinking about doing that while jet-lagged and now having already come once.

‘_I’m not eighteen anymore_,’ he thinks as he leaves his office, chuckling to himself, ‘_This should be interesting_.’

And he makes his way to Stan’s bedroom.


End file.
